West Side Parental
by Arkham Insanity
Summary: Just a little Parental Style Spanking Fluff Fic where Riff the leader of the Jets Spanks Baby John in a very mild and parental way. and also gives us a glimps on Baby Johns abuse that he suffered as a child.


They were family; more functional than the ones they had been born into. And like a family, there were rules and when a rule was broken, a consequence followed.

Riff leaned up against the rusty brick wall of the alleyway. A breeze blew slightly and he breathed it in.

He watched as the members of his little family blissfully took advantage of the days nice weather and played on the courts, usually he would be right there in the middle joining in, but today he had a duty to perform, not one of his favorite but as part of his role as leader of the Jets...necessary.

As he leaned waiting he thought about what he had to do...and how it was times like these that he wished that Tony was still an active leader by his side...he always seemed to handle these sorts of things much better than himself...and always had the right words to say.

Riffs mind snapped back to the present in a flash as she saw the lean and lanky frame of his families youngest members walk through the gate.

Baby John was not technically the youngest, Action was truly the youngest in age, but Baby John behaved younger, was more timid than the others, and on many occasions was picked on the most.

Upon seeing Riff Baby Johns head ducked down and his shoulders automatically came up to his ears, a slight blush crossed his pale cheeks. He knew that he was in trouble, after yesterdays scrap with the Emeralds everyone knew it...though were polite enough not to say it outright. They all knew that Riff would take care of it, they trusted him that way, and it was that kind of security that made being a Jet so special.

Riff didn't say a word only nodded his head at Baby John who understood the gesture too well and made his way over to the Jets Leader.

Baby John fiddled with the hem of his light blue t-shirt his eyes downcast. He couldn't even look at Riff...unable to even say anything.

Riff felt bad for the kid, but he couldn't let his compassion keep him from doing what he knew he had to do.

"I guess I don't need to tell you why you're in trouble." Riff began.

Baby John shook his head silently...then looked up ever so slightly.

"Gee Riff, I'm really sorry..I..I I..diddnt mean ta-"

Riff sighed and put a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"I know that.... but rules are rules Baby John...and what you did not only broke the rules...but almost got your neck sliced."

At this, the younger man sniffled a bit and lowered his head again nodding.

"Come on lets get this over with eh?" he said not wishing to lecture or belabor the moment. Using the hand still on his shoulder lead Baby John down the ally way and into a darkened doorway, which opened into a deserted parking garage, The Jets usually only hung out here when the weather was bad or if they needed to escape the ever watchful eye of the police beat. Riff had also found it was useful for when he needed to hand out discipline in a private manner, he respected each one of his members and always was discreet in doing so...not wishing to humiliate.

Riff pulled up a crate and put up one foot on it.

"All right Baby John...drop em to your knees" he said casually leaning one arm on his raised leg.

Baby Johns cheeks flushed bright red but quickly began to fumble with the button on his jeans. his fingers were all thumbs as he nervously managed to obey the order and pushed down his jeans standing only in his white cotton boxers that looked two sizes too large for him.

Riff said nothing more but beckoned with is hand for Baby John to go over his knee.

The young man had to take small steps forward since his jeans held his legs tightly but he managed to comply and was soon up and over Riffs one knee his arms akimbo and his legs dangling off the floor.

If this had of been any other member Riff would have had then over a crate stripped to the bare with a belt being used to administer punishment.

But Riff was unlike most leaders, he knew everything about every one of his members...he knew their histories, the dysfunctional families they came from, and their abuses.

There was a reason why Baby John cowered and behaved so much younger. The young teen had suffered too many years with an alcoholic mother who found whatever excuse she could to beat the child she did not want with everything from electrical cords to metal hangers. When Baby John had first joined the Jets, Riff couldn't count the number of times the young boy had showed up with deep dark purple bruises running from his back down to his thighs.

Even though riff took pity on the boy, he could not let that be an excuse not to discipline him when he needed it, but taking his past in consideration Riff made alterations that made the young man feel safe and secure, and maybe even in a small way help to heal from his abuse by seeing that correction was not meant to be brutal.

"I'm sorry Riff" Baby John squeaked as Riff raised his hand.

"I know...and I am not angry with you, but when we are in the middle of a rumble I expect you to listen obey me." Riff said solemnly then brought his hand down with a solid smack against Baby Johns boxer clad bottom.

Baby John did not hold back at all and let out a yelp, not so much from the pain, but from the fear. Being punished like this always made him so afraid, afraid that someday Riff might lose his patience and start beating him with a belt or worse.

SMACK!

With every stinging swat that Riff delivered Baby Johns mind flashed an image of his mother standing over him her eyes glazed with anger an extension cord in one hand striking him where ever she could managed.

The young man cried out again louder than was needed for the force that Riff was using.

It pained the Leader of the Jets to hear Baby John, knowing that every swat was releasing yet another trigger, but it had to be done, it HAD TO BE.

Riff steeled himself and raised his hand again landing a series of hard blows with his hand directly across the young man's seat.

Baby John began to sob as he felt Riff tighten his grip around his middle holding him securely.

Tears dripped from his face splattering on the gray concrete floor under him, he slowly forced himself to open his eyes.

As the screams of his drunken mother faded from his mind...he saw that he wasn't on the carpeted floor of his bedroom.

He was being held close and warmly by someone, he trusted his life to.

He was not being struck with metal hangers all over his naked and exposed body, but the soft but firm hand over his boxers.

The spanking was continuing but it was not wild and erratic, it was controlled and rythematic. Yes, it hurt, but it was not being done with brutal force.

Baby Johns cries softened as the fear evaporated from his chest and he was brought down to the reality of what was happening, he clutched Riffs leg for comfort and softly cried, not from pain, but from relief.


End file.
